After what felt like an eternity in the sun-dappled forest, Natsu pushed open the creaky door of his cabin.
His arms were laden with the day's catch—five plump milkfish strung neatly on a line. In his other hand, he carried a wooden bucket brimming with fresh river water that sloshed gently with each step.
He set the bucket beside the entrance with a soft thud. Cool droplets clung to the rim and trickled down the wood.
For a moment, Natsu stood still.
The quiet cabin greeted him with familiar warmth, yet the presence of his unexpected guests lingered in his mind like an unanswered question.
He moved quietly across the polished oak floor and approached the bedroom doorway. His gentle black eyes narrowed slightly as he looked inside.
Both women were still asleep.
The one he had treated lay peacefully on his bed, her chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. Her hood still concealed most of her face, though her posture had relaxed considerably.
Beside her, the second woman slumped in a wooden chair, her hood lowered and her body folded awkwardly from exhaustion.
Natsu lingered there a moment longer than necessary.
A faint mixture of emotions stirred in his chest—pity for their condition, quiet wariness about the trouble they might carry, and an odd, reluctant protectiveness.
He scratched the back of his head.
Whatever their story was, it would wait.
Turning away, he headed for the kitchen.
The modest space soon filled with the soft rhythm of preparation. The scent of herbs and woodsmoke drifted through the room as Natsu worked with practiced efficiency.
He gutted and filleted the fish with careful precision, the blade sliding cleanly through scales and bone. A pot of rice simmered gently over the hearth while ginger and scallions were sliced with quiet familiarity.
Time slipped by unnoticed.
Steam slowly gathered beneath the cabin rafters as the ingredients merged into something simple yet comforting.
Before long, two bowls of hot congee rested on a wooden tray—thick rice porridge laced with fish flakes, ginger, and scallions.
It was humble food, but nourishing.
Natsu carried the tray back to the bedroom and placed it carefully on the nearby table. Thin ribbons of steam rose into the afternoon light that filtered through the lace curtains.
He glanced at the sleeping figures once more.
Satisfied that they were still resting, he stepped outside.
The farm greeted him with lively noise.
Chickens clucked and scratched at the earth while pigs shuffled lazily through fresh straw. A pair of cows stood quietly in their pen, flicking their tails as flies buzzed around them.
Beyond the animals stretched neat rows of crops—golden wheat swaying gently beside vegetables and herbs thriving under the warm sun.
Natsu picked up his hoe and set to work.
The steady rhythm of labor quickly took over. Soil turned beneath the blade, feed scattered across the ground, and the familiar tasks of tending the land pulled his thoughts away from the strange situation inside his home.
Hours passed beneath the slow arc of the sun.
By the time the afternoon deepened into a warm golden haze, the farm had settled into its quiet routine.
Inside the cabin, the injured woman stirred.
Her eyelids fluttered open slowly, revealing a wooden ceiling above her. The beams were rough and weathered, their knots forming strange patterns that her groggy mind struggled to focus on.
She tried to sit up.
A sharp wave of weakness spread through her limbs, forcing her back against the mattress with a soft gasp.
Her breathing grew shallow as she scanned the unfamiliar room.
Simple furniture. A wooden table. Candle stubs melted down to pale wax. The faint scent of pine and herbs lingered in the air.
Her gaze shifted toward the chair.
Relief washed through her as she spotted her companion still sleeping nearby. Even beneath the hood, worry seemed etched into her resting posture.
A quiet sigh escaped her lips.
Fragments of memory stirred at the edge of her mind—blood, pain, running, darkness.
Then she heard it.
Outside the open window, a steady rhythm echoed through the afternoon air.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The sound of metal biting into soil.
Outside, Natsu paused mid-swing.
He frowned slightly.
Something had changed.
Setting the hoe aside, he wiped sweat from his brow and walked back toward the cabin.
At the bedroom doorway, he stopped.
The woman on the bed was awake.
She stared upward at the ceiling, her expression caught somewhere between confusion and quiet determination.
As she shifted slightly, her hood slipped back.
Natsu blinked.
For a brief moment, he forgot what he had come to say.
Her wavy brown hair spilled loosely across the pillow, touched with faint reddish undertones that shimmered in the light.
Her face was soft and heart-shaped, framed by delicate features and porcelain-smooth skin. Large golden-amber eyes glanced toward him, bright despite the exhaustion weighing them down.
For a heartbeat, Natsu simply stared.
Then he cleared his throat.
"Glad to see you're finally awake," he said.
His voice came out slightly rougher than intended.
"You would've been dead if I'd found you two even a bit later. That wound was no joke."
The woman looked at him, surprise and caution flickering across her face.
"Where... where are we?" she asked softly.
Her voice was melodic but strained from dehydration and pain.
"You're in my cabin," Natsu replied, stepping closer with careful calm.
"I brought you here to recover. You were bleeding out by the river."
He gave a small shrug.
"I couldn't just leave you there."
Her eyes widened slightly as memory returned.
Her hand shot to her side where the wound had been.
Her fingers met smooth skin.
No injury.
No scar.
Only dried blood stained the leather of her tunic.
Her breath caught.
"What...?"
Her voice trembled.
"How? There's nothing here. Not even a scratch."
Her gaze snapped back to him.
"Were you the one who did this?"
Natsu nodded.
"Yeah."
His tone remained calm but firm.
"But I'd appreciate it if you didn't pry any further."
He paused before continuing.
"Some things are better left unsaid—for everyone's sake."
The woman studied him carefully.
Questions clearly fought for release behind her eyes.
But the sincerity in his voice stopped them.
"Alright," she said quietly.
Natsu nodded once.
"Even without the wound, you lost a lot of blood," he continued.
"That's why you still feel weak."
He reached for one of the bowls on the nearby table and placed it gently in her hands.
The warmth of the ceramic seeped into her palms.
"Eat this," he said.
"It'll help."
She glanced down at the bowl.
Steam curled upward as the aroma reached her nose.
She stirred the porridge slowly.
Something about the scent felt familiar.
Her eyes widened.
"Congee?!"
The word burst out before she could stop it.
Her voice carried both disbelief and a strange, nostalgic joy.
"How do you even know about this?"
She looked back up at him.
"It shouldn't exist here—in this world."
Natsu caught the implication immediately.
But his expression remained neutral.
"Like I said," he replied calmly.
"Questions later."
His gentle black eyes held a faint trace of amusement.
"For now, eat."
He nodded toward the sleeping woman in the chair.
"And maybe wake your companion. She could probably use some too."
Tanya hesitated.
Confusion and curiosity swirled together inside her chest.
This man had saved her life.
He knew impossible things.
And yet he stood there as if nothing unusual had happened.
"Wait," she said softly.
He paused.
"What's your name?"
A small smile tugged at his lips.
"I'm Natsu."
He tilted his head slightly.
"I think that's enough for now."
His gaze shifted back toward her.
"And you?"
"Tanya," she replied.
The name left her lips almost automatically.
Natsu nodded.
"Tanya, huh?"
His smile warmed slightly.
"Eat up for now."
"We can talk later—when you're ready."
With that, he turned and left the room.
His footsteps faded down the hallway.
Tanya sat quietly for a moment.
Then she lifted the spoon.
The first taste of the congee touched her lips.
Warm.
Familiar.
Impossible.
Tears welled in her eyes before she realized it.
They slid silently down her cheeks as she swallowed the food.
For the first time since the nightmare began, she felt something fragile but undeniable.
Safety.
And for now, that was enough.